


oh damn, never seen that colour blue

by lucylikestowrite



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Ava's Blazer™, F/F, Fade to Black, Fluff and Angst, Sad, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 03:05:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14071542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucylikestowrite/pseuds/lucylikestowrite
Summary: “Maybe it’s that poly-blend pantsuit that’s got her so grumpy.”





	oh damn, never seen that colour blue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [plinys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/plinys/gifts).



> not as silly as it sounds, i promise.
> 
> i was 100% inspired to write this because i finally got the blazer right for my ava cosplay lol but it is not crack
> 
> title is from delicate again oops i didn't even mean this to happen i was just REALLY stuck on what to use as a title and none of the songs i have on rotation atm were right and then i saw this lyric on tumblr and was like yes that is the one and completely forgot which song it was from hsdfkjhkfhgk

i.

“Maybe it’s that poly-blend pantsuit that’s got her so grumpy.”

The agent is looking at her in disbelief, like no-one ever speaks to her like that, and maybe they don't.

The agents surrounding Sara, faces tight and guns at the ready, don't look like they crack many jokes.

With the stern expression wiped away, a tiny bit of vulnerability peeks through, and, just for a second, the agent is almost attractive.

Almost. Not that Sara’s thinking about that right now.

But if she were thinking about that right now, she’d be thinking about how much that millisecond of a look has made her want to grab this woman by her lapels and kiss her until she’s gasping for breath.

 

ii.

“If you’re going to help us, you can’t wear that,” Sara says, gesturing at Ava’s ever-present suit.

“Why not?” Ava says, crossing her arms. “It’s not _necessary_ to get dressed up. We’re going to erase their memories afterwards anyway.”

“You can’t go undercover in a Time Bureau suit,” Sara says, standing firm. “If you’re not going to change, you might as well leave now.”

Sara briefly wonders if she can afford to be making this sort of ultimatum. They need Ava’s help. But they also need to at least attempt some sort of covert operation, and that’s not going to be possible if they’ve got Ava in the middle of them, sticking out like a sore thumb in that stupid blue suit.

Because it’s definitely stupid.

It’s not growing on Sara.

 _Ava’s_ not growing on Sara. That would be ridiculous.

Ava is still looking her in annoyance. She rolls her eyes, shaking her head, and for a second, Sara thinks that she’s actually going to leave, and she can’t stop the feeling of disappointment that rises in her chest.

“Ava, please,” Sara says, a last ditch attempt to stop what she is almost sure is going to happen. She curses internally. It’s a stupid thing to lose an ally over, at such a crucial time.

And then Ava sighs, like what she’s about to say is the biggest sacrifice she’s ever made, and says, “Fine. But only because you said please.”

There’s a tiny smile on her face, and something about it makes Sara’s heart skip a beat.

“So what am I going to have to wear?” Ava asks, warily, trepidation evident on her face.

“Funny you should ask,” Sara says, before calling out, “Gideon?”

“Right away, Captain,” comes Gideon’s voice. A moment later a pile of clothes falls into the fabricator.

Sara pulls it out, and Ava’s face curls up in undisguised disgust.

“No.”

Sara frowns. “You already said you’d do it.”

“That was before I saw _that,”_ Ava says, pointing a finger at what Sara is holding. “I’m not wearing that.”

“It’s 1000 AD. They didn’t have pantsuits back then,” Sara says.

Ava looks at her like she’s the biggest idiot in the world. “I know that. But did it have to be so....” she trails off, apparently unable to describe what she’s looking at.

“Yes,” Sara says. “And if you don’t like it, you can leave.”

It’s the second time in as many minutes that Sara is giving Ava the option to leave, and… she doesn’t.

“I’m a high-ranking agent at the Bureau,” Ava says, grabbing the clothes from Sara.

“And?” Sara says, not entirely sure of the point Ava is trying to make.

“I _could_ leave if I wanted to. I don’t have to be here.”

“Okay.” Sara almost smiles, but Ava’s face is deadly serious. “Sure.”

Ava nods, then turns away. “Is there somewhere I can change?”

Sara gestures to the room they’re in.

“Somewhere private?”

Sara moves backwards, hits a button. The door slides shut behind her. She leans against the wall, her arms crossed, and raises an eyebrow. It’s a challenge.

Ava starts, and something that looks like a blush creeps onto her face, her cheeks turning slightly pink. Sara can’t stop herself from staring, just a little bit. Ava opens her mouth to say something, and Sara snaps out of it. Now is not the time to get distracted. Now is not the time to push at their boundaries.

“You’re going to need help getting into it,” Sara says, in explanation, and that's true. But she'd only thought of that reason after the door had closed, trapping them in there together. Something else, something instinctual, something that acted on her deepest feelings before thinking about it first, had made her close the door, had made her put on that face, and now she’s desperately trying to backtrack.

“Oh.” Ava’s voice is a strange mix of relief and something else, something that Sara can’t quite put her finger on.

That is until Ava’s eyes sweep briefly over Sara’s body, so quickly it’s hardly even noticeable, and Sara wonders if it was maybe disappointment.

She shakes the thought away.

And then Ava pulls off her jacket, _folding it_ before she sets it aside, something that is so like her, somehow both annoying and endearing at the same time, that Sara has to take a breath.

Thoughts of getting her hands on that fabric, of being the one who pulls it off of Ava’s body, cloud her mind.

She hears something, and is pulled back to reality. Ava is staring at her, her mouth open. “Do I get _any_ privacy?” she asks, her hands lingering on the first button on her shirt.

Sara can’t think.

Ava makes a gesture with her hands, motioning for Sara to turn around, and Sara does, her heart pounding.

 

iii.

“Fuck,” Sara gasps.

Sara’s head thuds against the wall as Ava pushes her body against it, her hands tight on Sara’s waist. Her mouth is on Sara’s neck, sucking at her pulse point, and it feels so good Sara thinks she might just collapse, right there.

But Ava’s hands are strong, even if Sara’s legs are weak.

“This room?” Ava asks, her voice low.

Sara drags her eyes open long enough to figure out where they are. “No,” she says, catching her breath. “Rory’s.”

Ava pulls away for a second, and shrugs. “Maybe not that one, then.”

“Maybe not,” Sara agrees, her chest heaving, and then Ava’s mouth is back on hers.

Sara’s arms curl around Ava’s neck.

Ava’s lips leave Sara’s, find her jawline, peppering kisses there, and it’s all Sara can do to stop herself from moaning.

“We’d get to my room a lot quicker if you didn’t keep- stopping us,” Sara says, reluctantly, because she doesn’t want Ava to stop to move her mouth away, but she is also desperate to get back to her room, to get Ava out of her clothes, finally.

She makes a decision about what she wants more, and her hands find Ava’s face, pulling at it so that their eyes meet.

“I have wanted to get you out of this suit since I first saw you,” Sara says, her words slow, trying to steady her breathing.

Ava makes a noise, her mouth parting, her pupils dilating.

“And I don’t think you’re into exhibitionism, so we’re going to have to actually get to my room before I do that,” Sara continues. “So we should get to my room. Good idea?”

Ava nods, wordlessly, her hands releasing Sara.

Sara pulls Ava. Her room is only a few more doors down. They’ve already stopped at half the bunks on the ship, taking far longer than as necessary to get from the kitchen to where they are.

When the door slides open, the familiar room greeting her, Sara almost sighs in relief.

Ava turns to her, her arms crossed, a smirk on her face that makes heat pool in Sara’s stomach. “Now, what was it you were saying about this suit?”

 

iv.

“I need to change,” Ava says, as the rest of the team leaves the bridge, leaving them alone.

“Into what?” Sara asks, leaning in, pressing up on her heels.

Ava’s fingers find Sara’s belt loops, pulling her closer. She tilts her head in mock thought. “Clothes?”

“Yeah, I got that, jerk. Which clothes?” Sara says, arms crossed, looking up at the small smile on Ava’s face with as much annoyance as she can muster.

It's hard when Ava’s hands have moved from her jeans to settle on her waist.

“I always keep a couple of changes of clothes at the Bureau,” Ava says. She pauses. Sara's hands find Ava’s lapels, fingers running over what is now familiar fabric. “But I was thinking that I could leave some stuff with you, maybe.”

Sara's hands still. She looks up, meets Ava’s eyes. “Oh?” she says, and she can't help a smirk forming on her face.

“For purely practical reasons,” Ava says.

“And what might those be?” Sara asks, raising an eyebrow.

“You know, if there's a mission and my clothes get ruined-”

Ava breaks off as Sara’s hands move upwards, looping around her neck, and pulling their faces closer.

“We’ve got a fabricator. What else?” Sara asks.

“Or I get sick of the suit.”

“Fabricator,” Sara repeats. She leans in further.

“Or maybe I just want to leave something at your place?” Ava says, slowly, punctuating her words with breaths every time Sara’s hand presses in on her skin. “Can't you let me have this?”

“Maybe,” Sara says, finally closing the gap between them. Ava lets out a sigh as their mouths meet.

Sara is never going to get sick of this. Ava’s hands had stayed on her waist the whole time, and now they get more urgent, her fingertips pushing into the skin on Sara’s back.

Sara pulls away, her fingers tracing a line down Ava’s face. “You know,” she says, “if you're already getting changed, it doesn't matter if these clothes get a little messed up, does it?”

“What exactly might happen to them?” Ava asks, leaning back, her eyes scanning over Sara’s body, a look on her face that makes heat pool in Sara’s stomach.

“I've got a few ideas,” Sara says, leaning in for another kiss, her mouth soft, then harder as her teeth find Ava’s lip. When she pulls away, Ava’s pupils are blown.

“We’re supposed to be meeting back here in half an hour,” Ava says, but it's not an attempt to get out of this, just a reminder.

“I know,” Sara says, breaking away from Ava’s grip. “I gave the order. So you better hurry up and get those clothes.” She pauses eyeing Ava’s blazer, her blouse. “Because you’re not going to be able to wear these afterwards.”

Ava crosses her arms. “You sound awfully confident about that, _Captain.”_

Sara shrugs, her gaze still roaming over Ava’s body. Eventually she meets Ava’s eyes. “I know what I'm good at.”

“Property damage?”

“Among other things,” Sara says, biting her lip.

Ava lets out a noise that is somewhere between annoyance and want, and then turns, opening a portal as she does. Sara gets a brief view of Ava’s office, and then it closes.

A few minutes later, Ava is back, this time opening her portal directly into Sara’s room.

Sara is glad Ava had made the assumption that that would be where she would be.

She stands up at the sound. “Took you long enough.”

“I was less than ten minutes.”

It was more like six minutes, but Sara isn't going to say that, isn't going to admit that she had been staring down the clock, every second making her more impatient and more ready for Ava to be back.

“It was still too long. I missed you.”

“You're impossible,” Ava says, shaking her head.

“Yeah, but you love me,” Sara says.

Ava only hesitates over her words for half a second, before saying, “Yeah,” her head ducking, blush suddenly rising to her cheeks.

“You're adorable when you're like this,” Sara says, because watching Ava fall apart over everything Sara does or says is the best thing in the world.

Ava opens her mouth to say something.

Sara’s mouth finds Ava’s neck, and Ava’s words get lost in a sigh.

Sara pulls Ava’s blazer away, dropping it on the floor.

“I thought you said I wasn't going to be able to wear this suit anymore,” Ava says, in between gasps. “That jacket still looks pretty wearable.”

Sara moves her leg, a heel grinding down on the jacket at her feet. When she moves her boot, there’s a clear mark on the dark fabric.

“Happy?” Sara asks.

Ava shrugs.

Sara stares her down, holds her gaze as her fingers go to Ava’s blouse and she slowly, methodically rips every single button away from the fabric.

She looks back up at Ava, a smirk on her face.

“Now?”

Ava kisses her.

Her fingers press into Ava’s stomach, skating lower and lower.

Ava kicks away her shoes as Sara’s hands grip the waistband of her pants, pulling them down.

 

v.

“What do you think?” Sara asks.

“About what?” Ava asks. She still sounds half asleep. Sara looks over her shoulder, and Ava is looking at her, her hand trailing absentmindedly over the dent Sara had left in the bed.

Sara sees Ava’s eyes narrow in almost recognition. Sara grins, and then spins around, her hands on her hips.

She’s wearing Ava’s jacket. It’s a little crumpled from having been unceremoniously discarded last night, but there is still something authoritative about it, some power that comes from wearing it.

Something flashes behind Ava’s eyes, something that is maybe lust and maybe love and definitely appreciation.

“Do you think I’d make a good Director?” Sara asks, fingering the dark fabric, the Bureau pin still in place.

The blazer is just a little too big, a little too long, the sleeves needing to be pushed up.

Ava purses her lips, and Sara knows she’s trying to hold in a laugh.

“Wow,” Sara says, opening her mouth in mock horror. She falls back onto the bed, her hands finding a pillow, chucking it at Ava’s head. “I’m offended.”

Ava’s hands go up just in time, catching the pillow and tossing it aside, her hands finding Sara’s (Ava’s) jacket instead, pulling her close.

“I didn’t say anything,” Ava says, their lips almost touching.

“You were going to,” says Sara, indignation still evident in her voice.

“You make a great _Captain_ ,” Ava says, avoiding the question, diplomatic as always, one hand running over the jacket, the other carding through Sara’s hair.

At this, Sara rocks back, crossing her arms. “I can’t believe you don’t think I’d make a good Director,” she says, a smirk on her face.

Ava raises an eyebrow, pressing up on her elbow to stare Sara down. “How long are you going to pretend to be mad?”

“I’m not _pretending_ to be mad,” Sara says, not particularly convincingly, especially when her voice wavers as Ava’s hand finds her arm, her touch soft.

And then Ava is yanking her back down. Her lips linger over Sara’s for a second, and then they’re on Sara’s cheek, her neck, her throat.

“Now?” Ava asks, her voice light.

“I’m still- mad,” Sara replies, her words catching in her throat as Ava’s mouth finds her collarbone, tracing a line along the skin there.

Ava’s lips don’t leave Sara’s chest as she finds the jacket, pulling it off Sara’s body, and chucking it somewhere behind her.

“Now?”

Sara doesn’t say anything.

But then Ava pulls back, and the whine that escapes from Sara’s mouth at the loss of contact seems to be all the confirmation that she needs.

“You would be an utterly terrible Director,” Ava says, grinning, before shifting so that Sara is under her. Sara knows her face is flushed, any semblance of faux anger wiped away.

She is laughing when Ava’s lips finally meet hers.

 

+i.

It’s a bad idea for Sara to be drinking, and yet, she is.

She’s six glasses down, or maybe seven. She's lost count, but the bottle is half empty, and she’s pretty sure it was almost full half an hour ago.

She can’t really remember.

Doesn’t want to remember.

She hates her room, filled with memories of a brief period of time when she was actually happy. And yet, she doesn’t want to be anywhere else. It’s some sort of masochistic trip, making herself sit and mull over everything that she did wrong, while sitting in the very place where it fell apart.

Where she blew it apart.

The whiskey burns her throat as she finishes the glass in one.

The stupid note is still on her desk, staring at her. She hasn’t been able to bring herself to throw it away, to burn it, to fling it into the time vortex. Instead, she’s just left it where she can see it, the dark letters like knives in her heart and, every morning, she wakes up in a lonely bed, a space where Ava should be,

Because she _should_ be there. Not having her there feels wrong.

It feels wrong, and Sara keeps telling herself that it’s for the best, that, if they had kept going, she was going to hurt Ava or worse. She had been making the selfless decision. That’s what she had told herself. That Ava would realise that, eventually.

Still doesn’t make it any easier. Still doesn’t make the loss of Ava hurt any less.

She curls up in the chair, looking at the bed through hazy eyes. If she squints, lets her eyes lose focus, she can almost imagine that Ava is there again, peacefully asleep like she always is, her rest undisturbed by the nightmares that plague Sara.

Ava doesn’t dream about killing people, about all the lives she’s taken, and the countless more lives she’s ruined.

Maybe Ava didn’t need normal, but she deserved something more than what Sara could give her.

Which was a mess with a murderer’s past.

Tears come, and Sara’s vision blurs. She wipes them away, but they keep coming, the alcohol getting rid of any control she usually has. There’s a box of tissues somewhere behind her, and Sara’s not looking when she shoots out a hand.

She hits the bottle, and it topples over, rolling to the edge of the desk.

Sara just watches. She could catch it, of course she could, but instead she just _watches_ as it falls over the edge, plummeting towards the ground.

It’s almost as if it falls in slow motion. Sara’s eyes follow its descent, numb.

It crashes to the floor, the glass shattering, alcohol spreading quickly.

The sound brings Sara back to reality. “Fuck,” she mutters, immediately wishing that she hadn’t let it happen. She’s too drunk to deal with this.

Sara reaches down without thinking, aiming for the largest piece, and immediately slices her hand, blood pooling quickly.

She swears again, withdrawing her hand.

Staring at the blood, bright red against the pale skin of her palm, it’s almost like she’s floating. It doesn’t feel like _her_ hand, like her body, like her heart. Now that Ava is gone, she feels like she’s walking around in someone else’s skin, someone who had a chance at happiness and didn’t deserve it and so took a sledgehammer to everything.

But the pain clears her head slightly, just enough for her to remember that she has bandages in her desk drawer.

Winding one around her hand, she surveys the mess in front of her. It’s a small blessing that she’s wearing shoes, because there is glass everywhere, tiny splinters glinting in the low light.

Liquid is still spreading over the floor, the smell strong.

That’s going to take a while to get out.

Her eyes land on something under her bed, something that is soaking up the liquid that has reached it. For a second she can’t work out what it is, what would be on the floor there, and then her heart drops, recognising the colour and the cut and the shape of it.

“Fuck. Shit.” A string of expletives fall from her mouth, her voice almost breaking as she snatches it up.

The fabric is sodden.

The Bureau pin is still there.

When Sara sets it down, there’s a red stain on the sleeve.

She looks down at her hand to see blood already seeping through the bandage. Apparently the cut was deeper than she’d realised.

Tears fall, because what more is salt water when this jacket in her lap, this jacket covered in blood and dust and glass and alcohol, this jacket that has somehow become a symbol of a thing that was, is already ruined?

**Author's Note:**

> something...... a /tiny/ bit lighter than my last fic. i mean. they're both still alive soooo. the next thing i posted WAS going to be straight fluff and then canon got sad soooooo. you get this. which. is not straight fluff. sorry. 
> 
> directoravasharpe.tumblr.com /@_avasharpe


End file.
